One aspect of South East Asia that I have been looking forward to is the beaches. I’m not one to lie around on them all day, but the sight of palm fringed white sandy beaches being lapped gently by crystal clear water is one that always brings a smile to my face. It was with this in mind that I left Cheung Ek, the killing fields memorial site, and began the ride south towards the coast.

I had not seen the sea since I arrived in South East Asia eleven weeks ago. Hearing so many people tell me how much I would enjoy the beaches, especially in Vietnam, I was looking forward to my ride to the coast. As I am now at the southern-most point of my journey and the temperature is rising on an almost daily basis I knew the ride was going to be hot but what I hadn’t counted upon was a hot head wind that dried my mouth as I rode. The ride to Kampot, the provincial capital, was a long hot morning that literally took my breath away. Four cold fizzy cans, at least three litres of iced water and three ice-creams as well as noodle soup for breakfast helped get me to my destination. And all of that in just 4 hours of actual riding.
The road in to Kampot was not auspicious. Noisy and congested with trucks and cars overtaking each other indiscriminately while being buzzed by dozens of scooters and bicycles. However, once I turned off the main highway and rode past the market into town I could see beyond the crumbling facade. The town has a run-down French Caribbean feel to it, just as I imagine Haiti to be, “a sleepy place with a relaxed atmosphere and one of Cambodia’s finest (though run-down) ensembles of French colonial architecture” – Lonely planet.  What the LP guide doesn’t say however is that in the morning light it could be just another run-down town. The French colonial buildings are mostly in a state of severe disrepair if not falling down completely. Many are squatted and their pavements used as street food eateries. Perhaps the French would be happy that despite the buildings having seen better days at least the cuisine is still good.
My one night in Kampot was also rewarded with one of the tastiest meals that I have experienced while in the region. A simple plate of noodles, bean sprouts, a fried egg and a small pastry filled with what seemed like cabbage or spinach all covered with a sweet curry sauce with a spicy ingredient that I failed to recognise. I don’t know what the dish is called but it tasted fantastic. The cost was the standard fee for most street food, just $1 or about 66 pence. I was tempted to ask for a second plate but knew that I would not be able to eat it all if I did. Instead I wandered further down the street for desert, a fruit shake. Walking back and a street stall was making mouth-watering sweet-milk (condensed milk) and ovaltine sprinkled crepes. Delicious. I had two. Considering I must have sweated enough calories this morning to make up for at least three I think that I showed considerable restraint.

Still on a culinary note, one peculiar aspect of Kampot is the choice of roundabout adornment. The largest roundabout in the town pays homage to the locally grown fruit Durian. Kampot is the countrys largest Durian growing area. It is regarded as the king of fruit by those who like it but to others it's extremely distasteful. First described to me by its smell as "the odour left when a rubbish bin has not been cleaned out properly and allowed to stand with rain water in it". Not the most mouth-watering description. I must admit that I couldn’t get over the initial revulsion brought about by my first smell and even after holding my nose while tasting and chewing it I couldn’t face swallowing it. Luckily for me there are plenty of mangos around to help take the taste away.
On leaving Kampot on Highway 33 I immediately found myself on a hard compacted dirt road. Weaving around potholes and rough patches while riding through clouds of dust kicked up by passing trucks reminded me of other touring cyclists descriptions of romantic sounding sections of road. There is a feeling seldom experienced while on the road but instantly recognisable to those who have in fact felt it. It’s hard to put it into words but feels like a sense of belonging to the place you are in. I suppose it could be likened to a sportsperson being ‘in the zone’, but is much more transitory and illusory. Contrary to the sportsman you can’t create that feeling, you can’t just focus your mind or carry out a routine to ‘get yourself’ into that zone, you just recognice it when it happens. It’s not a one off feeling as you may experience it often or even regularly but each time it will be unique to that one spot, not a zone as a sportsperson feels but an aura of belonging to that place for a time. It may be a few seconds or it may last for minutes but recognition of that moment makes you smile to yourself even though you know that that smile itself will mark the end of that brief moment of belonging. A little like waking and realising you have been dreaming, wanting and even trying to continue the dream but knowing that the thread has been broken and you are back to the present, the here and now. Recognition brings instant loss, but also another smile. You know you have been there and that you will remember it for a long time if not always.

About 30 minutes after leaving Kampot along a dusty, potholed road and glimpsing the ocean through palm trees for the first time on this journey I had that feeling. A truck had just thrown up a cloud of red dust, a scooter buzzed past me, a cow was beginning its slow meandering walk into the road and just for a short time I was lost to the moment and place.
Approaching the turn off to Kep I met a lone female cyclist coming the other way. I recognised her for a tourer immediately despite the lack of panniers and other baggage. It was the bike and the clothing that gave it away. Any bike that is rented here is usually a mountain bike with front suspension or a town bike. Snetzana Radojicic was instead riding a rigid mountain bike with ‘butterfly’ handlebars, a bar bag and pannier mounts. As with all touring cyclists (except for an old Dutch couple a group of us passed a couple of times in Laos) it’s customary to stop for a chat, to find out where they have been, where they are going and to gather information and ‘gossip’. Snetzana (translated from Serbian literally means Snow White) has been on the road for twenty two months, initially with a boyfriend until they parted ways, now continuing solo. She was on the way back to Kampot to collect her gear and then return to Kep the following day where she had already arranged cheap accommodation. We had spent about fifteen minutes at the road side talking in general but I could tell there was much more to be heard from this woman. Agreeing to meet the next day I continued on to find the place for myself and await her arrival and to hear more of her tales of adventure.

‘Snowy’ as I have come to call her is funding her trip by writing articles for an internet forum in Serbian as well as blogging for her own site. She is also the author of a short novel and a collection of short stories. National Geographic have also taken two articles from her but have not as yet published them.
She also told me of a British cyclist that funded his trip by ‘selling’ kilometres of his journey on the internet. Apparently people who have always wanted to visit certain places but have not as yet had the chance to do so make a contribution to his journey and pay for kilometres in their name. It sounds like a great idea don’t you think ? So, if you have your credit cards handy . . . . .
There are numerous guest houses and burned out shells of what were once opulent villas set in their own spacious grounds on the road into Kep. Each one individually styled. Obviously this was once a place to be. The crab and seafood market is now a haven for tourists from those guest houses and appears to be more a collection of restaurants than a working market. A kilometre along the sea front brings you to the beach area and you go another kilometre again before you reach what is the main centre of Kep according to Google maps. This is actually the furthest point away from most of the commercial and residential areas.  A network of streets set out in a grid formation to the north of the main highway has long since fallen into disrepair. What was once a residential area with individually designed villas set in large gated grounds has now become a line of empty or burned out shells. Many plots are actually devoid of any buildings being used instead as grazing ground for cattle. What were once garden walls have now become retaining walls for the herd. The roads themselves are now nothing more than extremely overgrown rutted farm tracks. Kep was once a playground for the richer French. It is now becoming popular again with Cambodians especially on weekends so I am told. It's Friday as I write this so maybe tomorrow it will be a bit harder to secure a seat or a hammock on the sea front. Yes, even in paradise life can have its drawbacks.

 
Cycling along country roads and stopping to talk to strangers has become normal since I have been in Asia. The quieter the roads and the smaller the town the easier it is to find someone to talk to. In fact it's usually hard to find a space where you can sit without being approached or at least stared at. Not that it's been intrusive. I've heard accounts from other touring cyclists of locals sitting at their table watching them eat or even videoing them. Luckily I haven't had to endure this, yet. Entering a major city for the first time since leaving Bangkok eleven weeks ago has been quite a revelation though. There are people everywhere, but not one of them wants to stop and talk, most don't even look at me. 
Whenever I enter a new town it's hard to know where to go to at first. At least in a small town there aren't too many side roads to choose from. The first job is normally to find a bed for the night, which is often a case of finding the only guest house or hotel in town. That's assuming that there is in fact one in the town !
When entering a new city however, the trick is knowing how far to go towards the centre or which area to head for. Do I want to find a cheap bed, a bed that's close to the centre, a bed with amenities close by or just anywhere to lay my head. No-one is interested in a foreigner on a bike in a city, after all I'm just another foreigner.

Phnom Penh is the same as all cities. Traffic, people, a multitude of choices. The roads are chaotic to say the least. Everyone is trying to get somewhere fast. And when you enter the fray without an idea of which way to go you are fair game for anyone to run into. The trick is to choose a route quickly and push yourself into any available gap with enough confidence to show that you won't be pushed out again too easily. A former London despatch rider mentality helps with this of course.
At least in Phnom Penh I had somewhere to head for. A recommendation from a couple of new friends I met in Siem Reap led me to the headquarters of Smallworld. The friends are Arpi and Zita from Hungary who are cycling around the world on recumbent bicycles for their honeymoon. They have been on the road for 20 months now with about another 2 years left at their reckoning. You can take a look at their blog here: http://360fokbringa.hu/en
Smallworld (http://smallworldcambodia.com/) is a social enterprise set up to foster development of ideas and to encourage new entrepreneurial talent. They provide office space and guidance on business startups as well as accommodation for those wishing to stay and study here. Luckily for me they also welcome travelers.  There is an informal and friendly atmosphere here that allows people to relax and express themselves openly in a supportive environment.
In the city itself the main tourist attraction is the royal palace ans silver pagoda. The palace is in fact a gilded cage for the King. The Peoples Party of Cambodia run the country, the King is nowadays merely a titular role, but as the King is unmarried at the age of 56 and with no heirs it's more than likely the end of the line for this monarchy.
My first mission in PP was to visit the Vietnamese embassy. This is the first time on this trip that I am having to apply for a visa prior to reaching a border. Up until now I have been able to turn up and get a 'visa on arrival', in effect an entry ticket. This time a form had to be filled in and left along with my passport and the necessary processing fee. A return visit the next morning and there is a new three month Vietnamese visa covering a page of my passport. I chose a three month visa as there are 1600 kms of country to cycle through. It's possible in a month but that wouldn't give me much time to stop and see any of the country. I certainly don't envisage taking three months but it saves the hassle of getting an extension later should the need arise. Let's just hope that when I get to Hanoi and apply for my Chinese visa things go as smoothly.

Next on the list of things to do was to visit the former Chao Ponhea Yat High School, later renamed Tuol Sleng. Ask anyone (of a certain age) what they know about Cambodia and they will tell you about Pol Pot and the 'killing fields'. Tuol Sleng high school was taken over by the Khmer Rouge regime and turned into security prison 21 (S-21). During the five years of the regimes dictatorship up to 20,000 people passed through here, one of more than 150 such prisons throughout the country. Phnom Penh itself was by this time deserted as the entire population was forced to move to the countryside within three days of the Khmer Rouge entering the city. They were forced to work in the fields as part of an agrarian socialism project that ultimately saw up to a quarter of the countrys population die of malnutrition, poor health provision and of course torture and execution. Special camps were set up to cater for the mass executions and burials that took place as there wasn't enough space in the city, hence the name the "killing fields". These photographs are of S-21.
The best known of these killing fields is south of Phnom Penh at a place called Cheung Ek. Trucks would bring prisoners from S-21 to be killed here. Bound and blindfolded they were lined up and clubbed or hacked to death while kneeling next to their grave. The remains of 8985 people were exhumed in 1980 from mass graves, while 43 of the 129 communal graves have been left untouched. Over 8000 skulls are on display in the Memoral Stupa, which was erected in 1988. The site is just under 6 acres in size and can be walked around in about ten minutes. It's unbelievable that so many people were buried in such a small area, and that there are another 150 such sites dotted around the country. Today the site is a peaceful memorial to those who died in the name of one mans crazy idea of utopia and later of his paranoia. The following photographs were taken at Cheung Ek.
What's left today is a memorial to mans inhumanity to man. But what I found most disturbing was the way the west refused to do anything about it. It was neighbouring Vietnam that invaded the country to oust the Khmer Rouge. Many of the Khmer Rouge soldiers defected to the Vietnamese led invasion while the leaders including Pol Pot fled to the west of the country where they still retained power near the Thai border. Surprisingly it was not until 1998 that Pol Pot died, believed to be poisoned by one of his former colleagues. The west and the UN, ever fearful of the spread of communism, still recognised the Khmer Rouge as the rightful rulers of Cambodia as it was thought that a Vietnamese supported government made up of ex Khmer Rouge leaders was no better. This way the Khmer Rouge were still allowed a seat at the UN until 1994. For those that remember being taught at school about the genocide it's hard to believe that the Khmer Rouge was still operating up until the end of the last century, over 30 years since the initial take over of the country.
A chilling reminder of what one mans unbridled power can do to a nation.

 
Picture
Courtesy of John Borland http://www.morffed.com/2013/Cambodia/28441160_X7Czv4#!i=2409053941&k=RJtg25T
Preah Vihear was to be the start of a few days visiting temples. Every few miles or so in Thailand and to a lesser extent in Laos I passed temples without really thinking of visiting them. They are all quite small and similar in design with seemingly very little apart from the choice of which colour to complement the gold to tell them apart. This temple complex promised to be different though. Whereas modern temples are functional, the older ones tend to be grandiose affairs, giving a show of importance and authority. Predating Angkor Wat - making them about 1100 years old - Preah Vihear is much more in tact than a similarly dated structure near Champasac that I had visited in Laos, and without many tourists. It also helped that I slept next to the ticket office and was therefore the first visitor of the day.  These pictures are of Preah Vihear.
_After a night spent looking at the mountain upon which the temples sat I caught a lift to the top on a scooter, thoughtfully provided for a fee of $5 by the ticket office. Entrance to the temples themselves is free of charge but I was disappointed not to be able to ride up there myself. I had been kicking myself for telling them I wanted to sleep on the mountain, thinking that I cold have sneaked up and found somewhere to pitch the tent but as we approached the top I saw that that would not have been possible as there were border police and tourist police everywhere. It was still early though and I had the temple pretty much to myself to start with apart from even more tourist police and leaf sweepers. The temples are laid out along a single axis so that you start from the bottom and work your way to the top of the mountain towards the fifth temple. Some of the buildings were fairly well preserved with others in a state of ruin. Being more accessible from Thailand than Laos the number of visitors is limited by the border being closed here. The atmosphere is certainly helped by this fact. I spent longer there just sitting and looking than walking around. A couple of hours later and I was heading back down the mountain to collect the bike and make my way towards Siem Reap and the jewels of Cambodias tourist crown, Angkor Wat and  Angkor Thom.
There was one other temple along the route towards Siem Reap that seemed worth visiting - Prasat Bantea Srei. I rolled up to a greeting of smiles and was pointed to the temple entrance with assurances that my bike would be well looked after at reception. A short walk later I was at the entrance where I had to show my ticket. No-one at the reception had mentioned a ticket when I arrived so I went back to find out where I should get one. Siem Reap came the reply. "Not here?" I asked. "No Sir. We don't sell tickets. You have to buy it at Siem Reap". Have you ever known a tourist attraction alongside a well maintained road to have its ticket office almost 40 Kms from the entrance ? I couldn't believe it. Imagine how many people make the trip out there from the town just to find out that they have to retrace their steps in order to pay for the entrance ticket. Luckily I had not done that but it seemed crazy not to be able to buy a ticket on site. Their reasoning was that there is one ticket for all temples and that the main temples are at Siem Reap and that is also where all of the hotels were. Therefore the ticket office was there too. Logically sound but I couldn't help think that they were short changing themselves to some extent by not selling tickets here too.
These pictures were taken at Angkor Thom.

After some initial disappointment and frustration I set off once more for the last leg of a 170km day to Siem Reap. Once there I got to talking to three Alaskans (it wouldn't be fair to call them Americans, they were too cool and friendly) who told me that they had booked a tuk-tuk for a 5am start the next morning and that I was welcome to join them. They were going to the temples for the sunrise over Angkor wat. It sounded like a good way to start the day and so I accepted the offer gladly. Unfortunately I was up late that night trying to sort out an issue with my cash point card. Nat West in their wisdom had decided to put a block on my card "because there is a lot of fraudulent activity in that part of the world". I had used the card in Thailand and Laos with not problem but obviously Cambodia didn't pass the trustworthiness test. The only way I could contact them was via my mobile and so it cost me quite a bit in order to convince them that it was in fact me that was entering my unique pin, which is known only by me and unchanged for the twenty years that I have had the account. It was gone midnight when I finally got to bed and the alarm was set for 4.30. However, we had a great day together visting four temples in all, in an area that could quite easily keep a temple goer fascinated for at least a week. We took in Angkor Wat and Angkor Thom, the two largest temple complexes as well as Bayon and Ta Phrom. The temples are set in stunning grounds and deserve more than a day to make the most of them.
The next four pictures were taken at Angkor Wat with the last two taken at Ta Phrom

Picture
Courtesy of John Borland. Click on the picture to go to his website
These temples are more than a thousand years old and considering they were left to decay for a long time they are remarkably in tact. At least, Angkor Wat is. Angkor Thom is very close but it is believed that it was 'lost', or at least forgotten about for a long period. During this time nature took hold and over the years has installed itself as a prominent feature in the temple. Everywhere you turn there are huge tree trunks growing through and around walls and buildings with branches and secondary roots snaking their way between what would originally have been cracks between stones, but would now be chasms if the trees were taken away. Surely this could never be done. It would spoil what has become a marvelous example of natures ability to take back what was once taken by man. It's the medieval equivalent of the Hare and the Tortoise. Slowly but surely the march of time will take its toll when left to its own devices.
These pictures were taken at Angkor Thom.

As I mentioned above the grounds of the temples are in themselves worth a visit. Set in beautiful parkland with tall trees and close cropped grass it's easy to see monks strolling around contemplating whatever it is that they contemplate. There are terraces and paths to stroll along as well as steep climbs to each successive level of the outside walls that require you to almost crawl up the face of the temple. Maybe that is why they were built that way, to put you in the appropriate position to contemplate your being as you ascend towards a higher place metaphorically as well as physically which is of course one of the aspects of Buddhism.
The next four pictures are from Bayon and show the many turrets each with a face on all four sides, The rest from Angkor Thom, except the last one which was taken by John Borland.

It had been a long day with a lot of walking and climbing when we decided to join the thousands of other sightseers and head for home. As Grace Jones put it in 'the apple stretching', "A herd of tourists limping homeward, having bitten off more than they could chew". Aching limbs and empty stomachs. It was a large meal followed by a large icecream later that we said goodnight and agreed to meet the next morning before they took the bus to Pnom Phen. I shall be heading there myself in a few days to get my Vietnamese visa before I hit the first beach of the trip on the south coast. I'm definitely looking forward to that.
 
A few days resting among the tranquil islands of Si Pan Don was a much needed break after the frankly boring ride south on Highway 13 through Laos. The road had been not only flat and featureless but long and straight. Each small rise would bring the hope of something to see over the crest but it was usually not the case. The islands on the other hand were small, individual havens of peace and quiet, except for Don Det, the centre of the islands thriving backpacker scene. Anne, Cormac and I had left Don Khong by riding almost to the southern tip of the island and catching the ferry across to Don Som. This ferry was made up of three boats lashed together with a platform allowing larger loads to be carried. Don Som has no roads so it was even more fun than normal riding down dirt paths between the houses and dusty single track along the ridges between the dried-up rice paddies.
Very soon we were at the southern tip of Don Som and catching another ferry across to Don Det. As we approached the landing beach it was obvious that this island was going to be different. About a dozen young backpackers were sitting in the water with beer cans alongside a water buffalo (without a beer can) cooling off. After finding ourselves some bamboo bungalows to sleep in the pace slackened off very quickly with the next couple of days consisting of meeting for breakfast, lunch and dinner with very little else happening except for swinging in a hammock and sipping cold drinks. One more ferry and we were once again heading south on highway 13 towards the Cambodian border about 30 kms away. The border crossing was easy enough, just pay the visa fee (entrance fee) and get a stamp in the passport and once again we committed ourselves to another boring straight road to the first town of any size - Stung Treng. Early the next morning I said goodbye to Anne and Cormac as they made a 5am start towards Phnom Penh. Later I made my way to the local market and met Dina and Christian, a Swiss couple cycling with the most loaded bikes I have seen so far. Another couple heading north to China. On returning to my hotel I met Stephan, a solo German cyclist who has been on the road for 20 months and was also heading for China. He stayed one night and headed north. The next day I received an email from Christian telling me they were having lunch with Stephan and were riding north together. Small world.
I left town myself the next morning taking a ferry going west across the Mekong and headed out on a dirt road towards Siem Reap and Angkor Wat via a much more remote temple complex at Preah Vihear. Preah Vihear is situated less than  one mile from the border with Thailand, an area that has been argued over for many years and even quite recently fought over between the two countries. The UN intervened and made the decision that the area is Cambodian as all parties had previously accepted the mapped area showing it to be within Cambodia, although this was still to cause me a minor headache when I reached it. The road from the ferry was hard packed dirt and gravel with a lot of dust kicked up by passing vehicles and very little in the way of habitation. I had heard of a new road being built but couldnt figure out why this road was not being tarred as it as a good straight road with new bridges over the small streams. 100 kms later I came to a large town called Tbeang Meanchey. Considering that this was the provincial capital and a thriving town it seemed strange that there had been no tarred road towards it. Later I found out that the road I had ridden was in fact the new road. There had been no sign of the old road from the ferry port. Somewhere I completely missed the only paved road from the ferry. In fact I hadnt seen any tarmac since getting on the ferry that morning.
The next morning I pushed on and got to the ticket office and tourist police HQ for Preah Vihear towards the end of the day. Deciding to spend the night on the top of the mountain as close to the temple as possible I went to get my ticket only to be told that I was not allowed to ride my bike up there as it was too steep. I was told in the gentlest and quietest way that the only place for a foreigner to sleep was 25 kms back along the road that I came in on. This was down to tourist security  and my personal safety. . It was about one hour to sunset and the thought of retracing that much of my route, only to have to ride it again the next day was not something that appealed to me, Seeing an empty barracks next door I suggested that the safest place for me to stay would be with the tourist police. I seemed to have played into the policemans hands. What followed was not so much a shakedown as an invitation to shake myself and then hand over what ever fell out of my pocket. It was almost as if I had suggested it myself. Just a couple of US dollars which included food would provide me with a place to stay for the night - in a tree house ! I cant remember sleeping in a tree house before. It even had a view of the mountain upon which the temple - in fact 5 temples - are built. Wild camping with armed security. Does it get much better ?
 
It's the unexpected meetings that are making this trip so special. Robert and Kung and later Martin and Goi in Thailand. Paulo in Huay Xai, Ron and Maaike in Nong Keuw and Emma, Cynthia and Graham on the boat to Luang Prabang. Mandy and Jacques, a south African couple of cyclists I met in Paksan. All have tales to tell about their travels and their plans. Some you meet once, some you share a route with and some you will bump into again in the most unlikely of places later on your travels. I also met a Dutch blonde that made me fall head over heels. Unfortunately the blonde was a guy and the fall was from my bike. I had been playing cards the evening before with his friends and when they caught up with me the next morning on the road Bram offered me a tow. Normally I wouldn't have accepted but the day was as hot as any I have experienced so far and the road was long, straight and featureless so I decided to grab the pillion hand rail and save some time. Acceleration was smooth but it didn't stop me veering towards his back wheel. I could see what was going to happen but unable to stop it. My front wheel made contact with the scooters rear wheel and before I knew it I was tumbling along the road.
I landed with a thud, I heard something break with a glass-like splintering noise and rolled to a stop. I have wondered a number of times how a fall on rough tarmac would feel. If I could escape with minimal injuries I would consider myself fortunate. The thought of gravel rash is not nice especially when on a long trip. Thank goodness I was only traveling at about 10 mph. I knew the sound of the break wasn't from my body but couldn't figure out what it could have been until I righted the bike. I suffered the tiniest grazing to one shoulder, one elbow, one ankle and one knee. The only real pain was from my right thigh. It felt like someone had given me the worst deadleg ever. As it's so hot here at the moment I can't wear a helmet while riding. Shaken to think of the possible outcome of this type of accident I counted myself very lucky indeed. The splintering noise I found out was my rear brake lever. Snapped off at the root. There was no way I would be able to get any leverage on that again. The Dutch guys waited around with me and once I was ready to continue they stopped ahead and waited again to make sure I was okay. When we parted again we agreed to meet up at the guest house in Thaekek later. My leg was okay to cycle with but I was sure it would make me suffer in the morning.
Luckily this was not the case. I was able to ride around town looking for a bike shop to replace the brake lever. I managed to find one in a shop that was stocked high with Chinese manufactured goods. Made completely of plastic, it flexes around the clamp every time I pull on the lever. Still, at 45 pence for the whole assembly I can't expect too much from it. It will be interesting to see how long it lasts though. Once fixed I set off south once more. Next stop Seno/Xeno. I decided that the next day was going to be a rest as the buses run along this road. I was going to take the easy option for a day and avoid the boredom of two days riding an endlessly flat and straight road with nothing of interest along the way.

I turned up just before 8am to get the bus. 8 oclock came and went. The bus apparently had done the same. When I asked a few of the tuktuk drivers about the bus south they told me that I had to go to the bus station. How stupid of me. Apparently the place where information and tickets were obtained and where the buses pick up and set down passengers isn't the bus station. Another one was due at 10 oclock though so I waited for that one. 10 oclock came and went too. No bus. 12 noon I was told. At 12.30 I gave up and started riding again. Straight into the hottest part of the day. Luckily for me the clouds started to form about an hour later. Looking ominously dark though they threatened to open at any time. I pulled into a guest house car park just in time only to find that the guest house wasn't open yet. There was nothing for it. Get back on the bike and ride fast through the rain. Just my luck that when I reached the next guest house fifteen minutes later the rain stopped just as I did. Still, I was warm despite being soaked and I was going to have a shower anyway.
Plodding south I got to Pakse about 5pm the next day. It had been a long two days riding to get there but I had decided to stay a couple of nights and have a rest day. I spent the evening talking and eating with a young South Korean man who had just got in that day too. It was interesting to hear his thoughts as South Korea is vastly more developed than South East Asia. He also told me a lot about China. Everyone that has been there seems to have a different opinion about the country, but considering the size of China it's quite possible that every one of them are correct. Their opinions may just have been formed in different places and from hugely different perspecives. Unfortunately apart from a very large market and some very tasty and cheap icecream the town of Pakse didn't seem to have much else to offer and so I decided to continue further south the next day and take a rest somewhere else. I crossed the river Mekhong and headed for Champasac and the ancient Angkor era temple that is close by. The temple was a disappointment as there are only ruins there but while there I met up with Peter and Nicky Murphy from New Zealand who were on a cycling tour of Laos (www.mytripjournal.com/pedallingon). They also told me of an Irish/German (Cormac and Anne) couple that were just around the corner who I met with a few minutes later. That evening we all met up for a meal and to swap stories about our tours and life on the road.
Cormac and Anne have been on the road since October and are heading south with the hope of a work permit/residence visa for Australia (www.crazyguyonabike.com/doc/chinasingapore). Peter and Nicky head home in about a week but for a short time at least our paths run together. It's the first time I've had company on the road for more than a one day ride. We are all heading for Si Pan Don or Four thousand islands. Peter and Nicky can't afford to stay long as their flight home leaves from Pnom Phen within the week. A brief encounter but a good one all the same. If I am lucky enough to go to New Zealand again they will definitely be on my list of people to visit. Cormac and Anne will be crossing into Cambodia about the same time as me, which gives us awww.crazyguyonabike.com/doc/chinasingaporebout 4 days to enjoy the area and take in a few islands and sights before we make the short journey to the border. From there their ride takes them south to Pnom Phen, while mine will take me west towards Angkor Wat and Angkor Thom.
he next morning Anne, Cormac and I headed for the ferry point to take us back across the Mekhong so that we could join up with highway 13 once more. The 'ferry' was made up of two small boats lashed together with a planking across them to allow a more stable platform. I don't know why but everytime I take my bike onto a boat I am grinning from ear to ear at the thought of where I will be going next. I already knew what highway 13 would be like; flat, straight and practically featureless, so it must be the water that is making me smile. Peter and Nicky were behind us, having made a later start but soon caught us up when we stopped for a drink and to let Annes stomach settle. Then we were all riding together. Lots of pictures were taken on and off the bikes of the five of us. Highway 13 is the only feasible north/south route in the country so it was no surpise to see other cyclists there too. Nunu and Joanna from Portugal were heading north and we stopped to chat for about 15 minutes before swapping email addresses and promising to get in touch later as they are also heading for the same area of China as myself.
A turn off onto a dusty side road and we were soon at our second ferry of the day. Another two boats lashed together with a wooden platform across them. We had reached the 4000 islands and crossed to the largest of them Don Khong. The village called Muang Khong was the landing point with a short string of guest house/restaurants along the water front. We found some cheap accomodation and met up again for a meal. There's very little to lure tourists but once here it's hard to understand why anyone would want to leave. After three hours I could quite happily see myself living here. As long as the internet access is improved and the plans for a bridge are scrapped.

It's going to be a few days island hopping and visiting the rapids before leaving for Cambodia. The 4000 islands have a reputation for being laid back and slow. Considering that Laos has a reputation for being the most laid back country in South East Asia so the time spent here is no doubt going to be very chilled out. Don Det and Don Khon are the other two islands with guest houses